


Waltz in A Minor

by bumblybee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblybee/pseuds/bumblybee
Summary: “You should get the piano tuned,” Sidney says, trying to herd Geno back upstairs. They end up stopping every few feet, unable to keep their hands or lips off each other, and it’s a miracle they get back to the door of the dining room without tripping over anything. “You should—I can hear your masterpiece better—”“I tune you first,” Geno says, a big goofy grin on his face, and Sidney can’t do anything but stop and stare at him.“Oh my god.”“I makeyoumy masterpiece, Sid.”“Geno,oh my god.”





	Waltz in A Minor

**Author's Note:**

> I realized a little while ago that I haven't posted any Sidgeno fic here since January - almost a year ago now. I feel bad about that, because while I've got WIPs out the wazoo, I don't have anything completed to show for it, which kind of makes 2018 a bust. So in an effort to get my groove back, here's something silly. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [bumblybee-fic](https://bumblybee-fic.tumblr.com).

It isn’t until Sidney’s been going over to Geno’s for a few weeks that he realizes Geno has a baby grand piano in the dining room.

And that alone is probably why he’d never noticed it before—Geno never really used the dining room, as far as Sidney could tell, and he definitely closed it off whenever their teammates came over, making them eat in the living room or in the kitchen. Drunk hockey players and fancy furniture aren’t exactly a good mix, even on a good day.

But now that Sidney’s spending more time at Geno’s house—especially in the mornings, when he wakes up early and leaves Geno to sleep in—he finds himself wandering around the house.

Which is when he finds the dining room.

The room itself is nothing Sidney wouldn’t expect from Geno. The table takes up most of the space, with enough chairs around it to reasonably seat half the Penguins roster, all made of a dark wood carved with little filigrees and flourish details. Above the fireplace in the center of the room is a painting of Geno, Sidney, Tanger, Flower, and Kuni, done around the same time all the core guys were getting into custom portraits. Sidney remembers that painting being in Geno’s main living room before, but he can understand why Geno would have wanted to move it. He did the same with his own.

Over in the corner opposite the door, almost hidden by the large chairs, is the piano itself.

It’s dusted, at least, and the fallboard is down, keeping the keys out of sight. Sidney lifts it and plays the center C gently, letting it ring out for a moment. It’s been a long time since Sidney’s played, but even he can tell that it’s terribly out of tune.

But it’s a piano, something Sidney hasn’t seen in a while, and so he sits down at the bench and hovers his hands just over the keys.

“Sid?”

Sidney immediately turns around on the bench, feeling a little like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He can feel his ears warming with embarrassment, but Geno doesn’t look like he’s going to be teasing him about it any time soon.

“What you doing?” Geno asks, his question breaking off into a yawn. His hair is still mussed from sleep, and although he’d managed to put on a pair of slides, he’s still in the t-shirt and boxers he’d worn to bed. When he stretches his arms over his head, his knuckles rap against the top of the door jamb, and Sidney gets a good glimpse of the skin just above his waistband.

It’s almost enough to make him want to drag Geno back upstairs and under the covers. Almost.

“I didn’t know you had a piano,” Sidney says.

Geno shrugs, yawning again, and walks across the room to sit next to Sidney on the bench.

“Want to hear song?” he asks with a grin that only ever means trouble, and Sidney smiles.

“Sure. I didn’t know you play”

“I play. You ready? Is most impressive.”

“I’m ready.”

Geno takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers over the keys as if to stretch them, and then, with a vigor Sidney wouldn’t have expected from Geno so early in the morning, proceeds to play Chopsticks with the same intensity a master pianist might play Bach.

Of course, the piano is incredibly out of tune, which just makes it all sound worse, but the cacophonous noise that only just resembles a tune makes Sidney laugh so hard he almost doubles over. But Geno keeps going until the song is finished, and then looks at Sidney innocently, a smile just barely lurking under the surface.

“Why you laugh? Is my masterpiece, Sid!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Sidney tries to get ahold of himself, but every time the giggles die back down, Geno gives him the goofiest smile, and they start all over again.

“Why you laugh? Why you laugh, Sid?” Geno starts tickling him then, and Sidney’s done for. His body lolls to the side to get away from Geno’s tickles, but Geno’s too damn large and he’s able to snatch Sidney up in his arms and pull him close.

When Sidney looks up at Geno, neither of them are laughing anymore.

“You should get it tuned,” Sidney says, trying to herd Geno back upstairs. They end up stopping every few feet, unable to keep their hands or lips off each other, and it’s a miracle they get back to the door of the dining room without tripping over anything. “You should—I can hear your masterpiece better—”

“I tune you first,” Geno says, a big goofy grin on his face, and Sidney can’t do anything but stop and stare at him.

“Oh my god.”

“I make  _you_  my masterpiece, Sid.”

“Geno,  _oh my god_.”

 

* * *

 

Sidney still gets him upstairs, bad lines and all.

 

* * *

 

When practice is over, Sidney shoulders his bag and walks over to where Geno’s finally starting to pack up his things. Usually Sidney’s the last to be finished with interviews and Geno’s the one who has to wait up, but Geno’s having to hurry now.

“Hey,” Sidney says, and when Geno looks up at him, he does a double take.

“Hey, Sid.”

He doesn’t immediately invite Sidney to go home with him, which is unusual, so Sidney clears his throat. “So, uh. Can I come over?”

“No,” Geno says quickly, straightening up. “No, can’t come today. Tomorrow, not today.”

Sidney blinks. Usually their ritual of asking is just a front; it’s a given that Sidney will be going to Geno’s place because that’s what he’s been doing every night for the last month.

Sidney tries not to take it personally—he knows Geno doesn’t need company as much as he does, and it’s normal that Geno would want a night to himself, a night to recharge. But it’s not exactly how Sidney had seen  _his_  night going, and he’d be a liar if he said he isn’t disappointed.

“Okay,” Sidney says. “Tomorrow.”

Geno’s expression softens then, and he puts his hand on Sidney’s arm. “Just for tonight,” he says quietly. “Is worth it, promise.” He doesn’t even bother glancing around to check if anyone’s watching before pressing a kiss to Sidney’s cheek.

Sidney can still feel Geno’s lips on his skin later that night, trying to fall asleep in a bed he hasn’t used in a month.

 

* * *

 

They beat Tampa at home in overtime, and Geno puts up an assist and two goals, one of which wins the game, earning him the Viking helmet and a round of cheers.

When he meets Sidney’s eyes as everyone goes about their business. Sidney tries to convey with just a look what he’s planning to do to him later that night. He’s not entirely sure if it works, but Geno’s smile sure does get a little wider.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s awake before Geno again, the covers pulled all the way up to Geno’s chin. He’s still snoring quietly, and Sidney’s tempted to just stay there with him, curl up into his warmth and try to get some more sleep.

But he never did get a chance to play Geno’s piano, even as out of tune as it is.

He tries to get out of bed as carefully as he can as to not wake Geno, then heads downstairs. He gets the coffee pot started and ready, two mugs out on the counter, before going to the dining room.

The piano’s not there.

Sidney’s heart plummets to his stomach. Was that why Geno didn’t want Sidney over yesterday? But why would he want to get rid of it in the first place? Sure, it needed a little attention, but it’d be a heck of a lot easier to get it tuned than to get rid of the thing.

Sidney heads back to the kitchen for a cup of coffee—only caffeine might be able to help him process everything—but as he walks through the living room, he sees it.

Geno didn’t get rid of the piano. He moved it.

Someone’s clearly done a good job of it, too, because while the piano had been dusted and kept looking decent when it was in the dining room, it’s clearly had a deep clean since Sidney last saw it. The black paint is as glossy as if it were brand new, and there’s been a cushion fitted for the bench, as though ready for a long playing session. There’s a tall, thin vase with one white rose resting next to the music stand, with a black and gold ribbon tied in a bow around the narrowest part of the vase.

Sidney’s not sure how he missed it—you have to pass through the living room to get to and from the stairs, but spending time in the living room was not exactly something neither he nor Geno had had in mind when they got home the night before.

Sidney holds his breath when he opens the fallboard, pressing center C, and it sounds exactly the way it’s supposed to.

He glances briefly up at the stairs, as if he can see straight through to the master bedroom and tell if Geno’s awake. He doesn’t hear anything, so he sits down at the bench—the cushion is surprisingly nice, and he’s grateful that Geno thought of adding it—and begins to play.

Sidney’s rusty; there’s no denying that. His last lesson was when he was a teenager, but by then hockey was taking up all of his free time, so piano had to fall by the wayside. He doesn’t necessarily regret that—he wouldn’t give up hockey for anything—but if there were 26 hours in a day, he would put that extra time into music.

He doesn’t hear Geno come downstairs, and he’s not really sure how long he’s been playing, but Geno has a cup of coffee in his hand when he sits down next to Sidney on the bench. He’s overly careful, as though he might ruin everything if he moves too quickly, and holds his coffee to his chest while he listens.

When Sidney finishes the waltz he’s playing, he finally looks over at Geno a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Didn’t wake me. Besides, is best way to wake up.” Geno pauses, then cracks a smile. “Your masterpiece almost better than mine.”

Sidney smiles, then kisses him. “Thanks. For doing all of this.”

“Don’t want you hide away to play. Also”—Geno pats the cushion—”need keep ass from get sore, most important.”

Sidney snorts, but he lets Geno kiss him again.


End file.
